


The Coziest Coffeeshop in Mitylene, Maine: Five Fragments

by storiesfortravellers



Category: 6th Century BCE Poets RPF, Ancient History RPF, Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, F/F, Fluff, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: Felicia keeps finding poems in her favorite coffeeshop, and she's determined to find out who's writing them.AKA, What if Hallmark movies were inspired by ancient Greek wlw poetry?
Relationships: Sappho/Original Female Character
Comments: 21
Kudos: 63
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	The Coziest Coffeeshop in Mitylene, Maine: Five Fragments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinystreetlamp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinystreetlamp/gifts).



> Content warning: contains behavior that could indicate obsession or lack of boundaries (but not necessarily more than seen in Sappho's poetry)
> 
> A treat for booksareourlove - thanks for the fun prompts!

Felicia settled down with her laptop and her latte at the table near the front of Espresso Self Cafe. She took a sip, letting the warmth of the drink linger.

She turned her computer and waited for it to boot up.

It was then that she noticed the poem.

A napkin, with lines of blue pen, lying flat at the edge of the table. 

She straightened out the poem to read it.

_I watch snowflakes fall, softly, sweet, on your lip,_

_longing to taste that cold ecstasy myself._

_I touch my finger to my own lip, caress,_

_mere imagining…._

Felicia looked around. She didn’t see anyone who might have left it there. 

She kept looking around, holding the napkin up, wondering if anyone would come back and say, “That’s my poem, I’m so glad you found it, I was so afraid someone would throw it away.”

Felicia would never throw a poem away. 

Nobody seemed to notice.

Felicia took out her pale green notebook and carefully smoothed out the napkin so that it would close without crinkling the words. She took another sip of her latte and tried to imagine who wrote it. What did their hands look like, carefully marking words onto the fragile paper? What did their eyes, their eyelashes, look like as they read them back again?

She put her notebook away eventually, and tried to focus on work.

\--

Another one. 

Felicia looked around. It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. 

Well, it could be. It was the same table - the poet could just have the same favorite table.

Felicia looked around, and again saw no one interested in her or her table.

She picked up the napkin.

_like nectar in winter_

_velvet warmth surrounds my tongue,_

_lingering, honey-sweet…._

Unless this was the most coffee-obsessed person in the history of the world, Felicia was pretty sure she knew what the poem was about.

She hesitated, then went up to the barista.

“Do you know who was at the table before me? They left this napkin,” Felicia said, being careful to wave the napkin around to make it hard to read. It wasn’t vulgar, but it felt… personal. Like the poet was speaking to her and it would be wrong to just share it with anyone.

“Nope. Garbage is over there,” she answered.

“No - I -- it’s a message and I wanted to know if it was for me.”

The barista smiled cheerfully and said, “That’s what I’m here for - to keep tabs on where people are sitting just in case they leave mysterious napkin missives to fellow coffee drinkers.” 

“Nicely done. The friendly demeanor really drove the sarcasm home.”

“I try my best.”

Felicia returned to her seat. She looked around again, but didn’t see anything.

\--

Felicia started going to the cafe every day. But it was a few days before she found another one. 

_her voice_

_like songbirds in June_

_like rippling waves_

_on a summer lake._

_her mouth_

_like plump flowers_

_heaving in sweet sunlight,_

_the curve_

_of her back_

_like a stream_

_curling down_

_a mountain_

She looked around again, knowing that she would find nothing. 

Frustrated (in more ways than one), Felicia pulled out a pink pen and started writing on her own napkin.

Well, she would have. If she could figure out what to say. She wanted her response to be… evocative… mysterious… full of elegant metaphors...

After a long while, she muttered, “Fuck it,” garnering only a few amused looks from nearby.

Felicia jotted down:

_Roses are red,  
Violets are blue,  
If you’re writing to me,  
I’d like to meet you.  
Seriously, I’m loving the poems but cut it out and introduce yourself already._

She looked at the napkin, then decided to add a couple of smiley faces and hearts.

She felt like such a fucking amateur.

On the other hand, she was actually coming out and saying what she wanted, so… who exactly was the fucking amateur?

Enough stalling, she decided. She set down the napkin and walked out of the cafe.

\--

Felicia came back the next day and found:

_I long  
to be the scarf  
caressing  
her neck_

_the sleeve_  
_that wraps its woollen fingers  
around her arms_

_red and blue mingling into bliss_

Felicia looked down. She was wearing a scarf and a red and blue sweater.

But she hadn’t seen anyone at the cafe earlier that day.

But… she had seen someone earlier that day.

She pulled out her phone and called her best friend. 

“Saffie,” Felicia said, “Either you’re setting me up with someone or you’ve been writing me really hot love poems.”

A pause. “Yeah. It’s the second one.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You told me you love poetry. So I figured… at the very least… I mean, even if you’re not interested, at least we’d have the poems....” Her voice trailed off. 

Felicia had never heard Saffie sound timid in her life. Maybe it shouldn’t be endearing, but, well, it was. “Of course I’m interested. I thought you weren’t interested!”

“Really?”

“Really,” Felicia said, laughing, and soon Saffie was laughing, too.

“Okay, we’re kind of both idiots,” Felicia said.

“We’re definitely both idiots.”

“But sexy idiots, one of whom is awesome at writing poetry.”

“Definitely. Wait, which one?”

“You,” Felicia said, laughing again. “And how’d you get the poems on the table?” Felicia asked, but then noticed the barista watching her intently, seeming quite invested in trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. “You know what, never mind. Can I see you right now?”

Felicia heard Saffie let out a little happy sigh. “Definitely.”

Felicia packed up her things, stuck a large bill in the tip jar and said thank you to the barista, and left to see her friend.

\--

**One year later….**

_tell me again_

_of your need_

_your desperation..._

_lick your lips_

_and tell me of your want..._

_your hair_

_a dark tangle_

_against the silk pillow,_

_your body shaking_

_like a forest_

_in a storm_

_even in my dreams_

_I could not imagine this_

“What do you think?” Saffie said.

“Perfect ending for a perfect book,” Felicia said, and leaned over and kissed her. “Congratulations on the first of your many brilliant books to be published.”

Saffie smiled. “So… did you see the dedication?”

Felicia stared for a moment, then turned to the front of the book. The thought of being mentioned in a poetry book’s dedication was, well, breathtaking. 

_To Felicia. She is the deepest, dearest truth I know and I am grateful beyond words._

Felicia tried not to cry. This was one of the best moments of her life and she absolutely was _not_ going to remember this moment as that time she blubbered incoherently. She was absolutely going to say something romantic and heartfelt, and there would be no crying whatsoever....

Finally, Felicia said, voice breaking, “That is so fucking hot.” 

They both laughed as they leaned into another kiss.


End file.
